


Scars and Serendipity

by Little Grey Gargoyle (silasfinch)



Series: The Courtship of Dr. Budd and Ms. Montague [1]
Category: Bodyguard (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attraction, F/M, Gen, Injury Recovery, Political Alliances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 07:35:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17320736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silasfinch/pseuds/Little%20Grey%20Gargoyle
Summary: AU: Dr. David Budd does not want to escort the Home Secretary around the Rehabilitation Unit he runs. His attraction to the Tory warmonger is even more inconvenient."Dr Budd...""Let him continue"Ms Montigue snaps sharply before anyone can intervene or offer a clumsy redirect."It's difficult to sit here and congratulate the government for doing something that is just about the bare minimum of what is required while championing a hopeless war in an unstable region.""What would you have us do, bring the war to our doorstep? Pay army bases to function like Dad's Army 24/7?" the questions are mocking, but the challenge is anything but light.





	Scars and Serendipity

  
Scars and Serendipity

 _“It has been said, 'time heals all wounds.' I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone.”_  
_― Rose Fitzgerald Kennedy_

 _Maybe it's time to let the old ways die_  
_Maybe it's time to let the old ways die_  
_It takes a lot to change your plans_  
_Hella drain to change your mind_  
_Maybe it's time to let the old ways die_  
_Oh, maybe it's time to let the old ways die_  
_Bradley Cooper Maybe its Time_

"I am not turning the ward into a showroom for the viewing pleasure of a warmongering government which is to blame for half the injuries in this place."

"You are under the mistaken impression that your active participation is voluntary, Dr Budd. Please keep such crass options to yourself for the duration of the Home Secretary's visit; surely army discipline can stretch to 60 minutes of polite conversation?"

Despite everything my years in the army taught and took away from me. I still firmly believe that being a physician is my life work and fulfils me like no other career path could hope to achieve. However, nobody thinks to mention that being a doctor is one remarkable about 30% of the time. You sacrifice your remaining time to paperwork, office politics and second-guessing your decisions. This schedule isn't a good combination of factors for individuals who are already prone to perfectionism and problem-solving.

There are more important battles he needs to fight, such as getting funding for a second counsellor. If he wants to achieve anything in this wrong, he needs to keep Anne Sampson on his side.

He will meet with the Right Honorable Julia Montague and not mention her party's crimes once.

  
***

Julia Montague is sexy up close.

She may be the embodiment of every policy I despise and head of a government that makes my job thousand times harder. However, failings as a human do not make this woman unattractive on a purely physical level. A painful divorce and recurrent PTSD didn't destroy my libido.

I don't pay close attention to politics beyond the national scandals and voting for Labour every year. Julia Montague is difficult to miss with her high profile interviews and relentless pursuit for a safter Britain; even my Uncle is softening towards the 'plucky Tory.' Watching her work the room and effortless remember everyone's names and specialities is impressive.

"Here is Dr David Budd, a burn specialist and recently completed a fellowship in trauma medicine," Anne says evenly while trying not to scowl at me too openly.

"A pleasure to meet you, Ma'am."

" You are a returned serviceman as well are you not, Dr Budd? I am interested in your perspective than" her voice is carefully modulated but rich.

"Yes Ma'am"

There is something about the way she regards me with a trace of mockery that makes me curious and uneasy in equal measure. I could swear she senses my politics and ambience at a glace. Perhaps her status in the courtroom isn't an exaggeration after all.

***

"Well, it seems like the new funding initiatives are paying dividends I look forward to seeing the new equipment for myself on tour."

The 15-minute presentation is true in the broadest definition term. Our wait times, rehab results are noteworthy. I will even acknowledge that the funding injection last year funded some excellent programmes. However, there is no mention of the recurrent admissions and intractable mental health problems.

"It would be better if we didn't need such fancy equipment in the first place."

  
My whispered retort isn't entirely fair. Julia Montague is uniquely charming, attentive and inoffensive. Its a combination of an unwanted attraction and fatigue that makes this latest statement challenging to tolerate. I was due to make rounds 20 minutes ago, and I'll be late for the kids for the second time this week.

Her underlings glare at me from across the table. Anne Sampson wants to fire me instantly, but there aren't that many burn specialists with extensive combat experiences. Still, the punishments will be creative and involve grunt work.

"Did you say something, Dr Budd?"

"For every advancement, we make in treating soldiers. This war creates ten more ways to destroy minds and bodies, especially the introduction of chemical nerve agents. As beautiful as this hospital and its funding is, Ma'am we are cleaning the bulkheads with a toothbrush if the round of sanctions and superpower war games continue."

"Dr Budd..."

"Let him continue"Ms Montague snaps sharply before anyone can intervene or offer a clumsy redirect.

"It's difficult to sit here and congratulate the government for doing something that is just about the bare minimum of what is required while championing a hopeless war in an unstable region."

"What would you have us do, bring the war to our doorstep? Pay army bases to function like Dad's Army 24/7?" the questions are mocking, but the challenge is anything but light.

What follows is a quick exchange that makes people on both sides of the table wince. Whatever judgement I have about the woman her skills at the debate are expert, the stats and figures she fires about at me aren't on any talking points for the day, not with the way her advisers almost faint. The flush of colour in her cheeks makes her even more attractive in my opinion.

***

"Can everybody quit treating me like I am made of glass and help that poor man retrain a shred of dignity?"

Privately I am stunned by the declaration and the commanding tone behind it. Some senior consultants handle being vomited on and covered in bodily fluids with less pose. The designer outfit is worth more than my first car, but the staining doesn't warrant more than a glance. The compassion in Julia Montague's eyes is genuine as she tries to reassure Derek and shoo away her frantic staff.

"I have spare clothes and shoes in my office - it is just down the hallway. " the offer is out of my mouth without conscious thought.

Miss Montague shooks me a grateful look as she follows me down the hallway nobody dares to support us. Almost on instinct pluck her soiled scarf and dump it in the yellow bins. For some reason, her perfume is still detectable underneath the smell of sick, blood and anaesthetic.

"Is that young man going to be ok? Can I do anything to ease his pain?" she whispers quietly.

"The charge nurse will reign in the patients and your entourage. Everything can be done already underway. Let's focus on getting you cleaned up and presentable for your next appointment; your driver is picking up fresh clothes from your apartment."

"If it means anything I hate being paraded around like some second-rate royal with the commoners almost as much as you despite having me here." the confession is almost a whisper.

  
***

"Thank you for being so gentle back there. Public embarrassment is often a trigger for regression- Derek is working hard to make progress."

"You must think I'm genuinely heartless if you think I couldn't make such judgements on my own and summon a trace of empathy." her tone is arch, but there is a trace of genuine hurt that surprises me.

Julia Montague looks diminished in his large spare shirt and tennis shoes., a ridiculous contrast with perfectly applied makeup and expense haircut. Designer power suits are not tested against vomit and bile, the objects in question and the biohazard bin much to the horror of the PR person. The Home Secretary adamantly refuses to charge the hospital for a replacement.

"That's not what I meant ma'am. Few people would handle projectile without concern for their clothes, especially such expenses clothes."

"You seem like a tireless advocate for your patients, Dr Budd. Thank you for both the clothes and the fresh perspective."

"Call me David."

I haven't dated seriously in over five years but this woman's body language is far from subtle, and she is making no effort to hide her action as she invades my personal space. Strangely enough, it doesn't feel like an attack or threat my muscles even relax slightly.

"David then."

She moves to kiss me, but the intrusive ringing of her cell phone keeps an almost respectful distance between us. I'm fiercely disappointed as relaxed Julia morphs into her political counterpart.

"What do you want, Rob?"

  
***

"Am I disturbing you, Dr Budd?"

The quiet question pulls me from the discharge forms that seem to form breeding colonies on my desk. As far as I knew the rest of my afternoon is at Anne Sampson's administrative whim. The only hope is that the hospital runs out of menial medical labour or her temper cools enough for reconciliation, the good money is on the first option. My wrists are already aching.

Julia Montague is darkening the office doorway a drycleaning bag across her forearm and a nervous half-smile that is instantly attractive.

"Your minders let you back here for another round with the liberal doctor, ma'am?" the joke falls flat given our last encounter but its better than staring at her neck.

"Believe it or not for the first 40 decades of my life and I navigated life perfectly well without handlers telling when to eat and where to be" Julia comments drily.

"Thank you for delivering my squash clothes, but they weren't worth the trouble or money in petrol."

"Would you be thoroughly scandalised to learn that returning your outfit is a flimsy pretext to continue our conversation?"

***

There is a little conversation between us as we drive to an upscale hotel 20 minutes from the hospital, the traffic is dreadful, but I barely notice as Julia traces nonsense patterns over my scrub pants, she wouldn't let me change into street clothes. The experience puts to rest several lingering questions about how well my anatomy functions anymore.

Julia Montague defies all Tory stereotypes with her enthusiastic participation and sexual prowess, complete with dirty talk and sharp nails. The hotel staff will be left in little doubt about our activities. She is surprisingly tender when she traces the still red scars on my back.

For the first time since returning from the war, sex doesn't feel like a competition for territory, and I'm not faking any of my responses, being entirely present in the moment is a novel experience. Having someone new see my scars is daunting, Vicky struggles, and we've known each other for years.

"I knew you spoke from experience" is all she says before placing gentle kisses there.

 

***

There is no logical reason for me have such an extreme reaction to the news.

After all, Julia was clear that our time together was purely a release of tension.

Of course, successive textbooks and my ex-wife argue that an inability to regulate reactions define PTSD in soldiers. It took years to ease the nightmares after coming back to the ward from Afghanistan or seeing Ella and Charlie's face in pediatric patients. Part of the reason I transferred to the army hospital is to prove to myself that I can still practice medicine effectively and help the blokes that were wounded more severely. My therapist rallies against it but agrees if I continue weekly appointments and medication. To give Sampson her credit the hospital administrator fights for the placement.

"Home Secretary Julia Montague remains in critical condition after the bombing at St. Mathews University where she was due to give a keynote address on the controversial RIPPA legislation which is due before parliament..."

  
I hoard information about the recovering politician like my son collects points on Angry Birds. Visiting websites like the Dailymail is morally suspect, but the editors do pay for better Paparazzi shots, and I find myself studying the graining images, trying to deduce the fall state of her recovery.

The official line is a careful PR exercise complete with a formal statement denouncing terrorism and reiterating support form a unified government. Julia will hate the meaningless platitudes about taking it one day at a time. Roger Penhaligon is the family spokesperson, which means I listen to his smug grandstanding more than is good for anybody.

The actual state of her recovery is difficult to judge without violating several privacy laws at risk getting locked up for a second time. Such an action is tempting for a half a second, especially when I learn that her primary physician is a friend from medical school who owes me a favour.

"Being a father is a verb not just a noun to wear, David." Vicki is watching too much Dr Phil between patients, but the words are still haunting.

I reign in the impulse to track down illegal information and settle form making educated guesses as she reemerges in public, first in a wheelchair and then with a cane and a pronounced limp. Practical long-sleeved shirts and dresses replace her glamorous wardrobe. The change is both beautiful and sensible to me, but it doesn't take long for the magazines to move from sympathy to judgemental.

"Please can I see you JM"

The text startles me even though Julia asks for my number the last time we met and 'accidentally' made out like teenagers. I am conflicted for a moment, not because I don't intend to see this woman but more because I want to reschedule my day to do so instantly.

"I can visit after work, 5:30?"

"I will order Thai from the place down the street."

  
***

"Most people bring flowers when visiting the sick"

"Those people don't know how sensitive your nerves and joints are right. A set of wound cream will be a much more practical gift."

In truth, it doesn't take a decade of medical training to observe that the magnificent Julia Montague is in pain. Her frame has gone from slender to painfully thin and angry bruises mottle alabaster skin free of makeup. She isn't leaning against the doorframe for appearances alone. I can make an educated guess about which of her many injuries is causing her the most grief and frustration.

"Please don't look at me like that. I called you precisely because you wouldn't swoon and fuss" Julia snaps as ahe leads me through the grand apartment.

"On the contrary, I was admiring Hamzah's work. Considering the extent of the fracturing, you are healing remarkably well" I lie easily.

"I don't think my Dear and Glorious Physician needs any more ego boosting thank you, Dr Budd."

"I am so glad you called. It saves me from obsessing over your photos on the BBC and other websites. They do need to eat more specific with their medical coverage."

"Were you worried about me, David?"

"Yes Ma'am"

"Is it wrong that I find such knowledge comforting?"

"No more so than me plotting for a socially acceptable excuse to ask you for coffee."

It's a terrible idea and has far-reaching consequences for us both. However, I can't bring myself to regret making the overture. The first time the choice is entirely my own.


End file.
